


Practice Makes Perfect

by tormalyne



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: F/F, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-08
Updated: 2013-05-08
Packaged: 2017-12-10 20:30:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/789849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tormalyne/pseuds/tormalyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basketball’s different. It doesn’t get easy after the first week, doesn’t get boring just because she’s good at it. Like right now, when it’ll be a miracle if Kise can make this shot with the way Aominecchi’s got her hand in Kise’s half-unbuttoned shirt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice Makes Perfect

Kise's good at sports. They're easy, just watch for a few minutes and tweak what she's seen, and in a week or two she's at the top of the pack. She likes them, but what's the point when all the fun's gone out of it that fast?

Basketball's different. It doesn't get easy after the first week or the second or even the third, doesn't get boring just because she's good at it. Getting better just means she loses a little more slowly, lasts a few minutes longer against Aominecchi in their one on ones, and it's _great_. 

(A month after she enters the club, one of her fans asks why she always seems so happy when she's playing even though she keeps losing and it's all Kise can do not to laugh in the girl's uptilted, dazzled face.)

So, basketball's different. Unlike all the other clubs, she actually sticks with it, actually puts in effort (a LOT of effort), and she's still not the best by a longshot. She still has trouble matching up to Midorimacchi's perfect, unreal form, Murasakibaracchi's overwhelming reach, the way Akashicchi always seems to know what she'll do before she does. (Kurokocchi’s passes, lightning fast and uncopyable, but Kurokocchi is different.)

And then there's Aominecchi. Aominecchi who she chases and chases and still can't beat, still struggles against every time, and it makes something in her spark to life and burn.

Like right now, when it'll be a miracle if Kise can make this basket with the way Aominecchi's got her hand in Kise's half-unbuttoned shirt, cupping the swell of one breast and lazily swiping her thumb over the hard point of her nipple. Aominecchi's pressed up against her back so Kise can feel the soft curve of her breasts and she keeps _squeezing_ every time Kise goes to line up the shot; it makes her aim wobble, makes her suck in a sharp breath that has Aominecchi laughing right in her ear, low and so close that Kise swears she can feel Aominecchi's lips, feel her exhale. Kise's supposed to be getting shooting tips, but so far it's just been tips on how much Aominecchi really likes the low cut of her cute, lacy bra.

The wobble to her aim turns into an outright tremor as Aominecchi's other hand slides down her leg, and of course her skirt is rolled short -- just because she plays sports doesn't mean Kise isn't going to keep up her appropriately model-gorgeous image, equal parts adorable and hot with her perfect hair and not-at-all demure thigh highs. Aominecchi's hand slips under the pleats of her skirt and up the inside of Kise's thigh, and Kise lets out a little noise, embarrassingly breathy and not at all protesting even though it really, really should be.

Aominecchi's hand pauses for a second when she reaches Kise's panties, and Kise can feel her face burning, prays to anyone, the gods of modeling and basketball, Akashicchi's disapproving face, that Aominecchi isn't going to say something about just how soaked they are already, isn't going to make fun of Kise for it, or (maybe even worse) _stop_.

"Nice. I figured they'd be lace," Aominecchi says, and before Kise can be relieved, can tell Aominecchi exactly what she thinks about the fact that Aominecchi's apparently been spending most of her day (or days, weeks, who knows how long) contemplating what kind of underwear Kise wears, Aominecchi slides her hand into Kise's panties and goes right for the wet, wet slit of her cunt.

Kise isn't proud of the moan that comes out of her mouth, but Aominecchi's not wasting any time, already has one finger buried in her and is nudging another one in alongside the first. Kise's not sure her knees are going to keep holding her up for much longer and it really is a miracle that she's still got a hold on the ball with how Aominecchi keeps rubbing her clit, awful, perfect little sparks of friction from the callouses on Aominecchi's hand that pool at the base of Kise's spine. She's suddenly very, very glad that Aominecchi's practically holding her up with that arm around her, the hand cupping her cunt and dragging out soft, shuddery little breaths with each thrust of Aominecchi's fingers in and out of her.

The worst part is how they're out in the open, and sure, it's too early for many people to be around, but not early enough for it to be no one, and anyone could come back to the court and see. It's one of the old half courts that no one, not even the third string uses, slated to be torn down and paved over, but still. Still, someone could walk around the corner, look through the trees and see Kise panting and flushed, see Aominecchi's hands on her, fucking her, see how Kise's not even making the barest, token effort at stopping her--

Kise comes with a low, desperate mewl, her fingers splayed and straining against the ball, Aominecchi's whispered encouragement, _yeah, come on, come for me, Kisee_ in her ear, and it's the dirtiest, hottest thing she's ever done. Aominecchi holds her up through it, kisses her neck, sucks at the fluttering beat of her pulse hard enough that it's sure to leave a bruise, and when Aominecchi lifts her hand up, fingers glistening and wet, Kise's eyes go wide but she still licks them clean, tongue curling around each one with kittenish swipes. She can _feel_ Aominecchi watching her, so she puts on a show, moans and smiles around her mouthful when she hears Aominecchi let out a soft, fervent _fuck_.

When Aominecchi pulls her fingers out of Kise's mouth, Kise hollows her cheeks and sucks so they make a wet, slick sound, and there’s a little smear of her lip gloss left at Aominecchi’s knuckles. Aominecchi is blushing, she can see it from the corner of her eye when she turns her head, and even if she's got a matching flush on her own cheeks, at least she's not the only one. Aominecchi catches the basketball when Kise finally lets it go, smirks at Kise and carelessly, casually throws it toward the hoop, makes one of her ridiculous formless shots. Kise's kind of ready to go again just from seeing that. It'll be a problem if she starts associating this kind of thing with the swish of the ball through the net, but she can worry about that some other time, when Aominecchi's not leaning in to kiss the last taste of her off Kise's lips.

"So cool," Kise breathes against Aominecchi's mouth, and starts buttoning up her shirt, smoothing her skirt down, putting herself back together as Aominecchi laughs. The bell's going to ring soon, and she can't let any of her adorable fans see her looking like this.

"Aominecchi," and Aominecchi stops halfway to retrieving the ball, looks back over her shoulder and raises an eyebrow at Kise, inquiring. She looks disheveled, her cheeks still flushed, her hair sticking out at odd angles, and her clothes a rumpled mess, but that's always how Aominecchi looks. No one will think anything of it. "Don't go having any fun by yourself, okay? If you play a game with me after school, I'll eat you out to pay you back."

Aominecchi’s head bobs up and down so gratifyingly fast as she nods that it looks like it’s being yanked on a string. It’s almost as good as the prospect of that promised one on one.


End file.
